Some days Schmolland sucks
First things first, if you don't know where Schmolland is, click here for the map.
Today, Charlie had plans to visit the boy next door, Michael. Michael, you see, has a basketball hoop in his front yard that Charlie is obsessed with. Michael is also almost 13 years old, and Charlie is six... and Charlie-like. Michael has now resorted to drastic avoidance maneuvers whenever Charlie rings his doorbell, cause, well, he's a teenage boy and Charlie is the strange little kid next door that yells a lot. Can't blame poor Michael, I wish I could do the same thing some days. Today was one of those days. Let me share with you the basic gist of the morning.
Charlie got up and immediately got dressed. This causes a red flag to go off in my brain, cause, well, my kid is not known for voluntarily putting on clothes. Then I remember that I had finally given up after a week of pestering and told him that he could go see if Michael could play today. I even warned Michael's mom about it a couple days ago and she said it would be OK. So off we go to Michael's house, and there is no one home. I tell Charlie we will come back later, and he decides it might be the best idea to just sit on the front porch and wait all stalker like. I tell him no and make him come back inside. Insert meltdown here. (second things second... if you don't know the exact meaning of meltdown in this situation, do a happy dance - YOU do not live in Schmolland.) 2 hours later, we try again. This time, Michael answers the door, says he'll be out in a minute, and then dissappears. After 20 minutes of patience from Charlie and a quick phone call to Michael's mom, it is apparent that Michael is not coming out, although he would like to, because he is grounded for some reason involving unsavory friends, empty fields, a book of matches, and the fire department. Oooops. Insert meltdown here. Looooooong, loooooud meltdown. Meltdown that even now, 5 hours later, is still presenting aftermeltdowns.
Now this is just one meltdown day, and to be honest, since we started home school, and especially since our trip to Disneyland last month, meltdowns have been few and far between. Whether this has more to do with Charlie being happier, or me being happier, I don't know. But, even without meltdown days, we still live in Schmolland every single day. And although I love Charlie and wouldn't change (much) him if I could, I am taking this time to just say that living in Schmolland is exhausting. Schmutch children do not sleep. I don't just mean they stay up late, although they do, or that they get up early, although they do, or that they get up in the middle of the night, although they do. They do all 3, every day. For a mom, this is exhausting, cause even on those nights that we give up and say - "Ah, screw it, the smoke alarm will wake me up if he sets the house on fire", there is some mysterious physiological thing that will not allow us to sleep if one of our children is awake. Exhausting. Schmutch children often do not seem to hear a word you say and have little to no knowledge of the meaning of "following directions". Not being able to say "Now sit down and eat your dinner" or "Can you please bring me some toilet paper here" and have the kid do what you ask... exhausting. Schmutch children often have problems understanding the concept of empathy. To have a kid that responds with "ok, but can I have a twinkie now" to a statement like "When you whap your sister over the head with the tire iron it really hurts her and makes her cry" is exhausting. Schmutch children, some of them at least, are what we call runners. This means that when opening the door to the house, the car, the Walmart, you must be ready to either grab hold of them or give chase, because they will simply take off in search of... whatever. It also means that if you take a runner to the movies, you can't really pay much attention to the movie once the child stops talking, or the next time you look at the seat, the kid will be GONE. Exhausting. Schmutch children have no idea of common manners, even when explained over and over. Saying things like please and thank you is not what I am talking about - I mean things like "We really don't just stand on the porch and yell at people in the other backyards at 10 at night, sweetie" and "We really don't talk through the entire movie, even when we have important things to say like reciting the safety warnings for the xbox, so knock it off already". Exhausting. And last but certainly not least (at least at this point) Schmutch children do not understand the equation actions = consequences. This applies not only to if you play in the street you will get hit by a car and die, but to things like if you don't stay in bed you will do extra handwriting worksheets and if you keep snatching your sister's toys you will no longer be able to play xbox. This is the most exhausting thing of all, because with children from America or France or anywhere else, you can punish them for any of the other Schmutch pastimes and eventually they will get the point. Not so here in Scmolland - all you can do is try, and hope. Oh, and by the way... once you find out you are in Schmolland (you don't move there, someone just tells you you live there, you see.) YOU CAN'T LEAVE. EVER.
Yes, there are tulips and lakes and mountains and other wonderful things in Schmolland, and I'm sure you will hear about those too. But some days real life gets in the way of beautiful and wonderful things. It's 10pm right now, and my cute little Schmutch boy is standing here telling me how I can now swipe my credit card right at the drive-thru at Sonic. For the 12th time in the last half hour. So I will now tell him to get back in bed... for the 13th time in the last half hour. I've heard that there are now groups working to get families out of Schmolland. If you want to learn more, and maybe help, click here or here. To help spread the word about Schmolland, click here.
Disclaimer: no sisters were actually swapped upside the head with tire irons in this post, it was all CGI. Please do not call social services. :)
Today, Charlie had plans to visit the boy next door, Michael. Michael, you see, has a basketball hoop in his front yard that Charlie is obsessed with. Michael is also almost 13 years old, and Charlie is six... and Charlie-like. Michael has now resorted to drastic avoidance maneuvers whenever Charlie rings his doorbell, cause, well, he's a teenage boy and Charlie is the strange little kid next door that yells a lot. Can't blame poor Michael, I wish I could do the same thing some days. Today was one of those days. Let me share with you the basic gist of the morning.
Charlie got up and immediately got dressed. This causes a red flag to go off in my brain, cause, well, my kid is not known for voluntarily putting on clothes. Then I remember that I had finally given up after a week of pestering and told him that he could go see if Michael could play today. I even warned Michael's mom about it a couple days ago and she said it would be OK. So off we go to Michael's house, and there is no one home. I tell Charlie we will come back later, and he decides it might be the best idea to just sit on the front porch and wait all stalker like. I tell him no and make him come back inside. Insert meltdown here. (second things second... if you don't know the exact meaning of meltdown in this situation, do a happy dance - YOU do not live in Schmolland.) 2 hours later, we try again. This time, Michael answers the door, says he'll be out in a minute, and then dissappears. After 20 minutes of patience from Charlie and a quick phone call to Michael's mom, it is apparent that Michael is not coming out, although he would like to, because he is grounded for some reason involving unsavory friends, empty fields, a book of matches, and the fire department. Oooops. Insert meltdown here. Looooooong, loooooud meltdown. Meltdown that even now, 5 hours later, is still presenting aftermeltdowns.
Now this is just one meltdown day, and to be honest, since we started home school, and especially since our trip to Disneyland last month, meltdowns have been few and far between. Whether this has more to do with Charlie being happier, or me being happier, I don't know. But, even without meltdown days, we still live in Schmolland every single day. And although I love Charlie and wouldn't change (much) him if I could, I am taking this time to just say that living in Schmolland is exhausting. Schmutch children do not sleep. I don't just mean they stay up late, although they do, or that they get up early, although they do, or that they get up in the middle of the night, although they do. They do all 3, every day. For a mom, this is exhausting, cause even on those nights that we give up and say - "Ah, screw it, the smoke alarm will wake me up if he sets the house on fire", there is some mysterious physiological thing that will not allow us to sleep if one of our children is awake. Exhausting. Schmutch children often do not seem to hear a word you say and have little to no knowledge of the meaning of "following directions". Not being able to say "Now sit down and eat your dinner" or "Can you please bring me some toilet paper here" and have the kid do what you ask... exhausting. Schmutch children often have problems understanding the concept of empathy. To have a kid that responds with "ok, but can I have a twinkie now" to a statement like "When you whap your sister over the head with the tire iron it really hurts her and makes her cry" is exhausting. Schmutch children, some of them at least, are what we call runners. This means that when opening the door to the house, the car, the Walmart, you must be ready to either grab hold of them or give chase, because they will simply take off in search of... whatever. It also means that if you take a runner to the movies, you can't really pay much attention to the movie once the child stops talking, or the next time you look at the seat, the kid will be GONE. Exhausting. Schmutch children have no idea of common manners, even when explained over and over. Saying things like please and thank you is not what I am talking about - I mean things like "We really don't just stand on the porch and yell at people in the other backyards at 10 at night, sweetie" and "We really don't talk through the entire movie, even when we have important things to say like reciting the safety warnings for the xbox, so knock it off already". Exhausting. And last but certainly not least (at least at this point) Schmutch children do not understand the equation actions = consequences. This applies not only to if you play in the street you will get hit by a car and die, but to things like if you don't stay in bed you will do extra handwriting worksheets and if you keep snatching your sister's toys you will no longer be able to play xbox. This is the most exhausting thing of all, because with children from America or France or anywhere else, you can punish them for any of the other Schmutch pastimes and eventually they will get the point. Not so here in Scmolland - all you can do is try, and hope. Oh, and by the way... once you find out you are in Schmolland (you don't move there, someone just tells you you live there, you see.) YOU CAN'T LEAVE. EVER.
Yes, there are tulips and lakes and mountains and other wonderful things in Schmolland, and I'm sure you will hear about those too. But some days real life gets in the way of beautiful and wonderful things. It's 10pm right now, and my cute little Schmutch boy is standing here telling me how I can now swipe my credit card right at the drive-thru at Sonic. For the 12th time in the last half hour. So I will now tell him to get back in bed... for the 13th time in the last half hour. I've heard that there are now groups working to get families out of Schmolland. If you want to learn more, and maybe help, click here or here. To help spread the word about Schmolland, click here.
Disclaimer: no sisters were actually swapped upside the head with tire irons in this post, it was all CGI. Please do not call social services. :)
posted by Holly at 9:50 PM
4 Comments:
I could write paragraph upon paragraph, but yea... Schmolland Bites. No one tells you your going to Schmolland, you end up there.
Mitchel does not understand consequenses at all (and I can't spell it either). He's learned to say 'sorry' if mom is making the 'mad face' but he doesn't realize that sorry isn't the punishment. Not watching TV or playing on the computer is his punishment.
I would think that if Michael was grounded, and doesn't like to play with Charlie that it would have been a great punishment for him ;).
Pretty much any question I asked Mitchel yesterday was answered with "The pink and blue mystic force rangers are my favorite, did you know that?"
"Did you know that?" is Mitchel's favorite phrase right now. He'll tell me some obscure fact about whatever TV show he's watching and ask me" did you know that?" I'll answer No. Then he'll ask me it again and I'll say "yes" then he askes how I knew that. My answer is usually "Because you just told me that 2 minutes ago, so know I know" However he will ask me this question now for the next 1/2 hour.
Schmillinois sends big hugs to Scholorado...
Charlie's favorite is "Is that right, Mommy?" We'll be doing school, he'll answer a question, and follow it with "is that right, mommy?" Makes for an interesting time during tests, since I can't tell him. :)
Hugs back at ya, darlin'.
Hey Holly ~ I'm sorry you were diverted to Schmolland! I've had some awfully nerve-wracking Schmollanders in class and I just couldn't imagine living with them! Big Hugs to you! You're a bigger woman than I! (And, secretly, I was hoping the tire-iron thing was true... it would have made me feel MUCH better about the 2x4 thing at my house...!) :) JUST KIDDING!!
Hiya! Its Nicole giver of the blue album, I had to check out your blog and must say that you had me close to water snorts again. Love your wit girlie. Anyways, check out my blog when you scra-blog chain again. be on the look out for snail mail soon.
Nicole
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